The Tapping Finger

Today counts. Each day, I now see, counts. Tomorrow will matter too, but right now I'm only thinking about today. This moment is mine, and the one after it, and the next. What I am to do with this remains clouded, but the thrill of choosing is always present. And it's those choices that make me.

Right now the choice is writing; thumping my index finger on the keyboard of my iPad in a hunt-and-peck fashion, trying to figure out where this is going without going back to my opener to improve my sentences. Screw that! I'm just writing noes, getting it out before it rises up to choke me, to silence me and force my thoughts, my ideas, and my unwritten dreams back into their dungeon.

I paused after that last sentence. Big mistake. Now I have to return to writing what comes up and wants out, and it's not as easy. I stopped before, embracing hesitation, before compelling myself to continue.

Ahh, that's better. I'm still hesitating now, but I'm getting back to the actual writing part of my brain. This is, in a way, an experiment. My index finger is getting a workout, thumping as fast as I ever have, pausing only to correct obvious problems. Too many repeated errors and spellcheck cuts in, turning my word into something too alien, I know I'll lose the thought if I delay.

But now I feel the wind down. My thoughts are slowing, a train coming into a station, preparing for the final stop.